Never Trust Your Friends
by Modern Audrey
Summary: When you've dated a person for seven years and have yet to get beyond second base, do the math. Something just doesn't add up... StanKyle, WendyCartman
1. Chapter 1

_Notes: So, yeah, this is my first South Park fic. Eventually, it will be Wendy/Cartman and Stan/Kyle. No idea on what the length will be… I just got bored, and somehow managed to start this. I will try to update fairly frequently. Lagging on updates is something of a problem with me, so if I wait too long just review me and tell me to get my fingers in gear. That usually does the trick. Here goes!_

_The South Park High School Senior Class Party:_

Wendy had been called quite a few things in her life. Overachieving bitch, manipulative ho, self-serving waste of tits… She had heard about a zillion variations of the same thing. However, since the majority of these insults came from Eric Cartman, she had never paid that much attention. After all, Cartman insulted everyone within a twenty mile radius. His vile, almost vicious wrath could be turned to anyone at any time, and for some reason it was quite frequently centered directly upon her.

However, apart from the occasional catty/jealous Raisins chick or fellow student who just happened to consistently 'lose' their homework and have theirgrade point averageslip just the tiniest bit lower than hers (Welcome to the Top Ten class rankings, Wendy Testaburger!) she had not had that many problems with her fellow classmates.

That was why, standing here in the middle of their senior class party and having her boyfriend call her out in front of the entire school—including Cartman, who had taken a break from stuffing his face and was giving them the funniest look—was so surprisingly painful.

_One week earlier…_

Stan Marsh would be the first to admit that he defied all of the usual high school stereotypes. He was a football player (quarterback, no less) who couldn't talk to a girl—even one that he had been dating off and on for seven years—without vomiting in her hair. Somehow, despite this almost painful lack of social skills, he remained one of the most popular boys in his high school. Though he could tell that the girls were somewhat wary of him, he figured that the fact that he rarely spoke to any female outside of Wendy gave them the assurance they needed not to carry around ponchos and avoid him like the plague.

Of course, among the males of the school he was more popular.

Stan had always gotten along better with boys.

So, it was no surprise to anyone (except Stan) that he had been chosen to head up the group of students organizing the South Park High School Senior class party.

It was something of a tradition for the graduating class to take a break from cow-tipping, lighting manure on fire on the doorsteps of the unsuspecting elderly and then running like hell, and just generally acting like brainless deviants, for one night at the end of the school year. That night was reserved for different kinds of deviant behavior.

The graduation party was being held at Token Black's house. No other place had really been considered. Cartman had put up his usual fuss for Shaky's Pizza, but even that racist dick could see the appeal of Token's mansion, indoor swimming pool, and state of the art stereo system.

Stan, who was universally more liked than the rest of his friends (and, due to his football player status, was more able to exert good old-fashioned peer pressure) had been elected as the one to ask Token—who had been the only one left out of the decision, as he had the most convenient way of disappearing until he was needed to prove a point.

So, here he stood in the freezing-ass cold waiting for Token to open the door, and wondering why a house that big didn't come equipped with a butler like you saw in the movies. When he finally answered the door, looking winded from running the incredible distance from his room to the front door, Stan didn't waste time for talk. He had been here many times, and so headed directly fro Token's room, not bothering with talk until he was plopped on the bed and warmed up. After he had defrosted a bit, he made his request.

Token, as it turned out, was more than happy to oblige. "In South Park, you share what you have." He grinned as he said it, reaching into his private refrigerator and pulling out a beer, glancing up to make sure that his parents weren't standing outside of his open door.

For some reason, whenever Stan came over the door to Token's room had to be kept open. Parents' orders.

Token continued after a deep swig. "Just like Kenny McCormick shares his father's willingness to buy beer for anyone who slips him an extra five bucks."

Stan nodded. "Yeah…and Kyle, who shares his truly terrifying computer skills with those less technologically adept individuals, who have a power point presentation due the next day and absolutely no idea how to go about it." This was said with a meaningful look at the rich boy.

Token snickered, "And Cartman, who, by no will of his own, shares his mom!"

The pert and attractive crack-whore had helped virtually every one of their classmates into 'manhood'.

"Sick, dude!" Stan said, fighting his up-chuck reflex and taking that as his cue to leave.

He would never engage in that sort of thing, he reflected as he made his way home. He didn't know every place that Lianne Cartman had been, but the places that he did know about were enough for him, thank you very much. Besides, he had a girlfriend. Granted, he had never been further than second base with her, but that was through his own volition. He just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

Besides, he was petty sure that he wasn't the absolute _only _guy in South Park to have abstained from sex thus-far. There was always Cartman. But, for the love of God, who would so much as touch that asshole?

And there was Kyle. He thought that there was Kyle. For some reason, he had never asked and Kyle had never said. They tended to avoid sexual discussions, for some reason. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in the talking, but something always held him back.

Suddenly, the thought of the party had lost its appeal. He _really _wanted to know if Kyle had ever had sex.

_Notes: _

_Let me know what you think, please! I'm new to both slash (mild though it is) and South Park fic, so I'm sort of nervous about this. Also, I don't remember in what detail we were shown Token's house, so if it is different than we were describing it let's just say he moved._

_By the way, I know this is a little short, but I just wanted to gt over the intro stuff so that I could jump into the main storyline!_

_Take care._


	2. Chapter 2

Never Trust Your Friends: Chapter Two

_Five days until the Party:_

Wendy was nearly to her classroom when her best friend, Bebe Stevens, came up to her. Although, to be perfectly fair, cornered her would be a more appropriate phrase. Bebe was somewhat like a tornado. She had a unique ability to turn the most peaceful area into a flurry of activity and chaos.

Part of it, Wendy had observed, had to do with her general appearance. She was practically the incarnation of Marilyn Monroe, with her bouncy blond hair, massive breasts and hourglass figure. Every time she moved, she had every single boy in the room (and a few of the girls) swinging around to watch her. That was when the chaos came into play. As everyone turned to stare at Bebe's finer attributes, their concentration went straight to hell. People bumped into each other, lunch trays were dropped, and lockers were slammed shut on their owner's hands.

Just your typical reaction to Bebe the tornado.

Wendy was the first to admit that Bebe exuded sexual chemistry, and it had a definite effect on her environment. However, she was not typically one of the bookdroppers.

Apparently, today was not a typical day.

As she fell on her knees, Wendy tried hard not to curse out loud. Part of the reason that she had dropped her books was a genuine hurry to get to class. The other part was that she had been walking along with her head lowered, trying her best not to be seen by her perky blond friend. Any dream of that was lost when she felt Bebe's hand on her back, scaring the hell out of her and—there you have it—causing her to lose her books.

Now the entire hallway was staring at her, and there was only one way that it could get worse. Luckily, he didn't seem to be around—

"Hahaha! Look at that! The stupid ho can't even hold onto her books!"

Fuck.

Wendy finished gathering her things and stood with as much dignity as was possible under the circumstances. Thankfully, looking cool under horrible conditions was one of her strengths.

She sighed, glancing at Bebe. "I don't know how that jackass is always around when I do something stupid. It's like he's got a radar or something."

Bebe just smiled her characteristic 'I know all, and you know nothing' smile, and commented "yes, it does seem like he hovers around you an awful lot."

Wendy shrugged. "Yeah, just my luck." Bebe wanted to be an actress, and had always had an above average flare for the dramatic. She had almost gotten to the point that it didn't annoy her. Almost.

"So listen," she said, glancing behind her at the door. "I really need to get to class. Mrs. Flarebush takes off points for tardies."

Bebe snorted. "Sounds like a bitch to me. So, what are you wearing to the party?"

Wendy once again resisted the urge to curse. She had been avoiding this conversation for a month. She had been so close to getting away…

"Bebe, I can't come to the party."

You would have thought she had said that she liked to molest kids while murdering bunnies. Bebe's face paled, and she gasped. "What do you mean, you can't come? This is our senior. class. party! Even Butters and Tweek are coming!"

"Look Bebe, I really would like to go." Bullshit. "But the thing is the Saturday before final exams. I mean, who scheduled that?"

"Your boyfriend scheduled it, Wendy. As you would know if you ever saw him—or any of us, for that matter—anymore."

"You don't have to make it sound like I'm avoiding you purposely. I'm not." Double bullshit. "I mean, can I help it that we don't have the same lunch period anymore, and that all of you work most weekends?"

Bebe just shook her head. "Don't think you're fooling me, Wendy Testaburger. I see right through you. You are coming to this party if I have to drag you there."

She turned around and strutted away in that overdramatic way of hers, swinging her hips to an even greater degree than usual. Wendy thought about calling her back, but finally just sighed and leaned her head back against a random locker behind her.

What was she going to do?

This party was precisely what she needed to keep away from. She had seen random teen movies. She knew what to expect. This party would be nothing but a massive sex-fest for couples graduating high school—and, essentially, each other. A sort of a kiss-off to top off four years of excellent service.

She couldn't face that. It was exactly the sort of thing that she had been avoiding for months. She had her own personal reasons invested in avoiding sex with Stan. After what she'd found out this summer, there was no way that she could in good conscience—

She broke off the thought as the stillness of the hall suddenly presented itself to her, and she realized that she had to be at least five minutes late to a class less than three feet away.

She took her seat as all of her class mates looked on, and the bitch teacher—one of the few that Wendy hadn't been able to ingratiate herself with—scowled at her.

"Well, well, Miss Testaburger. So glad that you decided to show up," She said with a smirk in that ridiculously high pitched voice of hers. "You will notice a ten point reduction in your daily grade. Also, as I have already taken up the homework due today, I will not be able to give you credit."

Wendy rose in indignation. "But Mrs. Flarebush—"

"Kindly take your seat, and open your book to page 211." Clearly, she meant business.

Wendy just breathed in deeply, fighting the urge to scream. But then, as if by magic…

"Haha! Dumb bitch can't even get to class on time!"

Eric Cartman's voice drifted through the hallways, through the closed door, and into the classroom. Clearly from a distance, the mocking words were nonetheless extremely audible.

That was it.

"Fuck you, Cartman!" Wendy didn't even realize that she's stood up, until she heard her chair slam to the ground from the force of her rising. She was breathing heavily, face flushed.

And she knew that she was screwed.

"That's twenty points, and a week of detention." There was a wealth of satisfaction in the words.

Wendy just lowered her head to the desk as Cartman's mocking laughter echoed throughout the school.

Kyle Broflovski shook his head from his position across from Cartman at the lunch table. It had been five minutes since the asshole's latest abuse of Wendy Testaburger, during which time they had entered the lunchroom, gotten their food, and sat down.

He still hadn't stopped laughing.

"You suck, fatass."

Cartman just snickered harder.

"How do you even do that, man?" Kenny asked in his usual mumble. "It's like you've got a radar for that chick or something."

Cartman finally managed to recover. "Hey, can I help it that the bitch screws up so much? You can't help but notice."

Kyle just shook his head again. For some reason, he'd never been able to like Wendy very much. Maybe it was her almost obsessive compulsive drive to be the best at everything, despite who she may have to step on along the way. Maybe it was her almost Cartman-esque manipulation of everyone and everything around her.

Maybe it was something else.

At that thought, he instantly tried to avert his mind. He had found that he was a lot better off just avoiding that kind of thinking entirely.

Trying to get his focus back, he at least felt compelled to say something on Wendy's behalf. "You know, Cartman, if Stan ever catches on to how you're harassing his…girlfriend," the word tasted sour on his tongue, "he's going to kick your ass."

Cartman snorted. "Please. That homo's too busy playing butt-fairy with his football bitches to notice anything Wendy does. Besides, if he ever came up against a real man like me he'd run off screaming like the little girl that he is." He leaned back in his chair, smirking with self-satisfaction.

Kyle looked like he was about to come across the table and strangle him with his bare hands. Kenny, sitting next to Eric and unwilling to be caught in the crossfire, immediately felt the need to distract them both.

"You coming to the party, Cartman?" he mumbled through a mouth filled with lumpy mashed potatos. The cafeteria had never been the same since they lost Chef.

Cartman snorted. "Yeah, right. Spend my weekend hanging out with you freaks? Screw that! Besides, you know that Russell Crowe fighting show?"

Kyle just shook his head. "I can't believe that stupid show is in its eighth season."

Cartman continued, disregarding his comment. "Well, anyway, Russell Crowe's traveling to Ethiopia and fighting a poor person that weak. The winner gets a lifetime supply of Cheesy Poofs!"

"Sounds like your daydreams, fatass," Kyle muttered.

"Hey!"

Once again, it was Kenny's turn to interject. "Come on, Cartman. I'm going to get Stan to hire strippers!"

"Ooh, strippers," Bebe said, sitting down next to Kenny and absently reaching out to fondle his thigh. "Sounds like my kind of party!"

Bebe and Kenny had been dating for six months, ever since they discovered that they could enjoy great sex and an emotional connection, and that they were the only two people in the school who wouldn't get pissed when one of them decided to screw someone else.

Kyle frowned. "I think that he meant girl strippers, Bebe."

She just winked at him, using one of her carrots in a very suggestive manner. "I know."

Kyle shook his head. Kenny and Bebe were perfect for one another. They were the two biggest sluts that he knew.

Bebe sighed—moaned would be the more accurate description—and leaned back in the chair, pushing out her gargantuan breasts to an almost button-popping extent. "I can't wait for this party. I _really_ need to just… cut loose!"

Kenny's eyes were fixed on his girlfriend's monstrous cleavage, with a slightly glazed expression.

Kyle looked at them both, and rolled his eyes. Then he glanced over at Cartman, who had by this time curled his lip up into a sneer and looked ready to cut loose with one of his viler insults.

He interrupted quickly. "So, Bebe, is Wendy coming?"

That seemed to distract Cartman, alright.

Bebe looked up from what appeared to be an interesting game of stare-down eye sex with her boyfriend to grin determinedly. "You bet she is!"

Kyle scowled. He'd hoped she had decided to stay home. She had the most annoying way of monopolizing Stan's time.

Cartman suddenly piped up, "So, what time is this crap-fest, anyway?"

"What do you care, fatass," Stan said as he sat his tray down next to Kyle. "I heard that you weren't coming, anyway."

"Stay out of my business, bitch!"

Stan just rolled his eyes.

"Too bad Wendy the bitch is coming to the party," Kenny announced. "That chick could bring a funeral down."

Stan didn't hear. By this time, he was completely immersed in conversation with Kyle. Bebe slapped her man lightly on the back of his head, and then began to make out with him.

Cartman's eyes narrowed into tiny slits. He covertly removed a small object from his pocket.

Across the table, Stan was asking Kyle, "So... are you bringing anyone to this party?

Kyle just shrugged.

Stan scowled. What the hell could he do with an answer like that? "What does that mean exactly?"

Kyle frowned. He was making it extremely difficult to avoid the subject. "I don't know, what's the point of a date? Kenny says that we'll have strippers." He tried to joke.

It wasn't a very funny joke.

Stan burst out. "Hell no, we're not having strippers! Since when do you like strippers, anyway!"

Kyle gave him a weird look. "Dude… what the hell's the matter with you?"

"Not a damn thing," Stan said, and focused his attention on mashing his potatoes violently with his fork.

Across the table, there was a barely audible series of _ting _sounds, like a bunch of tiny metal somethings were hitting the tile floor.

Kenny looked up from his lip-lock with Bebe. "Hey, did you guys hear something?"

"Like what, my dear friend and companion?" Eric asked, smiling innocently.

There was something terrifying about that smile.

"I'm not sure. It sounded like—"

Suddenly, Kenny's chair seemed to collapse. It fell to the ground with Kenny in it… but not before he hit his head on the table behind him, shattering his skull.

"Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!"

Bebe fell to the floor beside him, burying her head in his chest and sobbing expertly. It was a daily even for her, and, theatrical as she was, it never seemed to get old.

Kyle and Stan, argument forgotten, got up to alert the janitor.

Cartman just smirked, returning the miniature screwdriver to his pocket and taking the opportunity to steal Stan and Kyle's desserts.

Notes: Okay, I am actually sort of proud of this chapter. I hope that you all will let me know what you think! I know that everyone says this, but reviews really do motivate me to work faster. By the way, I have general ideas for this story, but nothing totally definite. I will take into consideration any ideas that you all might have. I really appreciate the great reviews I have gotten so far!

Individually:

Seaouryou: Thanks so much! You have no idea how excited I was that you reviewed. I am so hooked on your newest fic that it isn't even funny.

Broken-SilverWings: Don't worry, Stan will figure it out. After much social-awkwardness, that is! 

Mina-chan: Thanks!

Danakagome: Thanks!

BlackNeonTears: I'm glad you like it! I will try to stay on track with my updates.

Lilchicky004: I love you too! Yeah, Stan's always been better with boys

Coffeey: Thanks!

Rakal: Thanks! If I screw up, feel free to let me know. Actually, I would appreciate it if you did.

Indiana Beach Bum: I appreciate the compliment! This is a new style for me, so I hope I am able to do it some small bit of justice.

By the way, I am now accepting anonymous reviews. I didn't realize that you had to correct that at first


	3. Chapter 3

Never Trust Your Friends: Chapter Three

_Four Days until the Party…_

.  
It was with great trepidation that Wendy entered room 213 and took a seat after the end of classes on Tuesday. It wasn't that 213 was haunted by the spirits of oppressed and tortured American Indians. Nor was it the frequent site of ritualistic animal sacrifice. Hell, it wasn't even the secret hiding place of an escaped mass-murderer.

Which, come to think of it, was sort of strange for South Park. You would think that there would at least be a blood-crazed werewolf living in the closet or something.

Room 213 was reserved for detention after school. Needless to say, Wendy Testaburger—class president, head of the forensics team, head of the Student Council, and president of the Future Business Leaders of America—had never been in 213.

Well… unless you count Spanish class at 9:30. But that was different.

It wasn't that Wendy hadn't deserved detentions. Hell, she deserved jail time.

She was just too clever to get it.

The great majority of her teachers were under her control by some means or another. Several of them liked her. After all, she was a hard worker. She learned the material they taught, and learned it well. The problem was that she learned it too well. Better than the teachers in most cases. And Wendy was not the type of girl who let her work go to waste.

Or, more simply, she was a bit of a show off.

And, unfortunately, most teachers were not big on being corrected in the middle of their class.

That was where the extortion came in. Who knew that so many teachers in a tiny mountain town would be big into S&M, child molestation, and explicit pornography?

It was great. All she needed for a fantastic Grade Point Average was great study skills, and, when that failed, a pocket sized digital camera.

Mrs. Flarebush, though, had so far proven to be an exception. She was as hard-boiled as they come, immune to every attempt at flattery, and apparently completely free of deviancy. Go figure.

She was one of those stereotypical bitchy math teachers, who seemed to get off on bringing people down. She was stuck in this insignificant little town, and Wendy was convinced that she wanted to keep everyone else there. Why else would she be trying so hard to ruin her record, along with the other kids in her class?

How was she ever going to get into Harvard with a disciplinary record and a 3.8 GPA?

Wendy sighed as she finally pulled herself from her reflections and opened her math book. The best revenge for now was to study and make an A on the test next week.

At least until she could get access to some form of explosive.

At the front of the classroom, the door suddenly banged open. Wendy looked up, and at first thought her utter horror at the sight before her was causing her to see in slow motion.

Actually, Eric Cartman was just walking even slower than usual after jogging up the stairs.

Standing framed in the doorway, Cartman surveyed the crowded room impatiently. As his eyes found Wendy, sitting in the back and desperately trying to hide her face behind a textbook, he smirked. Then, slamming the door behind him with a resounding crash, he approached the supervising adult up front, who was looking at him with rising dread.

Cartman offered Mr. Mackey a disturbingly pleasant smile. "I'm here to serve my detention, Senor Mackey. _Si bien_?"

"_Si bien_."

Of course it wasn't the same Mr. Mackey. I mean, talk about ridiculously coincidental. Since when do elementary school guidance councilors change over to high school at the drop of a hat?

Actually, this was the elementary school Mr. Mackey's long-lost identical twin brother, Senor Pedro Mackey, who was captured by pirates when the two were babies. He had wondered the Gulf of Mexico for years before getting work as a guidance councilor and being transferred to South Park where, after an extended period of animosity in which Senor Mackey had stolen Mr. Mackey's girlfriend and briefly taken over his identity, the two had become aware of their shared parentage and reconciled.

Simple as that.

"Just a minute now, Eric,_ si bien_? You aren't scheduled for a detention today." Senor Mackey called as Eric began to walk down the aisle to take a seat.

"If you will check your daily roster, Senor Mackey, I believe that you will find that I am in fact scheduled for detention." Cartman's eyes gleamed as he glanced in Wendy's direction. "For the duration of the week in fact."

Wendy forgot her desire to remain anonymous and groaned loudly.

"Nope," Senor Mackey said, glancing at the book. "No detention listed, so you're free to go, _si bien_?

Cartman's self-satisfied smirk dimmed briefly, and he muttered something about "incompetent, lame-ass Kenny" under his breath. Something about how Kenny McCormick was in one of SenorMackey's health classes with her earlier today, and actually sat right next to his desk—where he kept the detention roster—tugged at Wendy's memory, but slipped before she could make a connection.

Cartman was saying, "Look, Senor Mackey, I **do** have detention this week. And I **will** serve it. It's my duty to my school. Right?

"Now Eric, I can't give you a detention you didn't earn, _si bien_?

Cartman banged his fist on the councilor's desk "Damn it! You dumbass Mexican butt-fucker! You give me my damn detention before I call La Migra on your sorry ass!"

"You little son of a bitch! You sit down right now before I really get mad, _si bien_!"

Wendy scowled as Cartman grinned widely and began to look for a seat. She abandoned here earlier technique of hiding behind a book to duck her head beneath the table. The class was arranged in rows of tables that ran the length of the room, and it was a lot more effective means of hiding than would be afforded in an ordinary desk.

She actually though that she was going to get by with it until she heard him sit down.

In her chair.

Trapping her beneath the table.

Wendy squealed in outrage as his long legs settled, one on either side of her. She did her best not to fall down with the impact of her rage, but to no avail. She felt the cold tile floor hit her thighs and backside as she collapsed from her earlier position kneeling beneath the table. To make matters worse, she had grabbed onto one of Cartman's legs to brace herself, and he was currently smirking at her as she sat clinging to his leg with her skirt riding up to practically her hips.

Damn Bebe for telling her she should wear skirts more often.

"Well, well, well," Cartman drawled. "What have we he_ah_? I've got a little Wendy beneath my desk!"

Wendy seethed. "Damn it, Cartman, you knew that I was here!"

"Wendy, babe, you got to stop being so paranoid. Seriously."

"Oh…" she growled. "You let me up right now."

"Who's holding ya down, bitch?" he said, swiveling in_her_ chair to give her more room to get out.

The no-good chair-stealing bastard.

She got up, then stood there, hands on her hips, waiting for him to move. Of course, being Eric Cartman, he had no intention of doing so.

Finally, from the front, Senor Mackey called out, "Ah, Wendy, you really need to sit down during detention, _si bien_?

Wendy stamped her foot, "this jerk is in my seat!"

Cartman interjected, "I believe that this is my seat. I always sit here in the back so that I don't have to smell Senor Mackey's smelly unwashed European body." He added the last in a conversational tone to Wendy, who glared at him.

"I don't even know how to begin correcting the various factual and stereotypical errors in that sentence, Cartman!"

Actually, he had at least one point. Like his brother before him, Senor Mackey did have a definite funk about him.

"Wendy," Senor Mackey sighed from the front of the room. "Just sit down in the seat next to Cartman."

Wendy ground out, "I. Will. Not. Just look! All of my books are there! It's my seat!"

"Problem easily solved, ho." Cartman shoved her books over, nearly knocking them off the table in the process.

Senor Mackey stood up, one hand to his face as if fighting off a headache. "Just sit down, _si bien_!"

Wendy plopped down in the hard plastic chair hastily, and Cartman glared to the front of the room. "No need to get so cranky about it, dude." But he said it quietly, so only Wendy could hear.

"No kidding!" she said, equally softly, leaning towards him so that no one else would hear. "We were just having a simple conversation."

...  
Kyle entered his house through the front door, dropping his books on the couch near the entrance. The fact that his mother had a rule against leaving things lying on the couch didn't stop him as he made his way up to his bedroom. He sighed as he flopped down on the perfectly made bed.

He was so sick of following everybody's stupid rules.

Suddenly, determinedly, Kyle came to his feet. He surveyed the ridiculously clean room with distaste. The perfectly arranged desk, the stupid Einstein poster, the Periodic Table over in the corner… none of it was his idea. None of it was him.

Systematically, he made his way around the room. First, he tore down the posters. Then came the bed sheets, which he ripped off and left laying in the middle of the floor. So on and so on he went, laying his room to ruin.

Finally, breathing heavily, he collapsed at the desk with his head cushioned on his closed laptop and slowly began coming back to his senses. He lifted his head reluctantly and surveyed the wreck that was his room. Sweet Moses, his mother was going to freak when she saw this.

If he at least had a decent excuse, he wouldn't feel so stupid. The only excuse that he had was that it had been a bad day.

Big deal. He'd been having these sort of bad days since he was fourteen.

In his defense, though, he didn't think any of them had been this bad.

Stan had been acting so damn weird all week. His behavior yesterday at the cafeteria table had been one of the milder examples. Alternating between avoiding him and losing his temper for the least little things—nothing in most cases—he had been making his best friend's life miserable.

His life. That was such a freaking joke. His life basically consisted of one lie built upon another, and he didn't know how much more of this he could take.

Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he just let it slip.

Just let everyone know.

For a moment, it seemed so tempting. Why not? What was the worst that could happen? His mother would lose it, that was a given. But, really, his mother was constantly pissed at him for some reason or another.

Things at school couldn't be that different. He wasn't what you would call popular. In the town that he lived in, a boy's popularity was measured by his athletic ability.

Or lack thereof.

Besides that, what did he care about popularity? He would be graduating soon. Even if he wasn't, what did he care? He didn't need anyone's friendship but Stan's—

And therein laid the rub.

Because he was not at all sure how Stan would react to…it. Not at all.

He could handle losing his parent's support, he could handle losing a few friends…but he couldn't handle losing Stan.

He laid his head back down, and winced as he heard his mother begin to come up the stairs.

...  
_Notes: Whew! I just wrote that all at once, and now I'm freaking exhausted. I hope that you guys all liked it! Hey, know what's a good way to let me know? Well, if you look in the lower left corner there's a little box… click it and leave me a review!_

_natures candy_

_Hehe, this made me laugh._

_DewkOfHazard_

_Thanks!_

_Coffeey_

_Does this chapter answer your question about Kyle ; )_

_Rakal_

_Yeah, I'm trying to keep the SP spirit alive and well in this story. Except for Kenny. He's fair game for mayhem and destruction ; )_

_WolfBane2_

_Glad you like it! And nice to know that you agree with my couples, too!_

_BlackNeonTears_

_Thanks!_

_Mina-chan_

_Thanks!_

_BroflovskiFan_

_Thanks!_

_Brat-Child3_

_I was so happy to see your review! I love your stories, and I've read your book! I actually took some of your s/k comments into account when I was writing Kyle's personality—you will see more of that in the next few chapters._

_If you like my style, I LOVE yours!_

_Seaouryou_

_I'm so glad that you liked the K/B. I wasn't sure if people would go for it, but I love them! Actually, they were one of the most fun parts to write in chapter 2._

_I am having so much fun trying to keep Cartman in character. He's such a jackass, I love writing him._

_Thanks so much for your review, and can I just say that I am still absolutely in love with your newest SP fic?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Important Note- Please Read:**

Just so you all will know, this is the week before final exams at my college. Because I will be finishing up assignments and studying virtually non-stop until they are over, you may not see the next update for a while. I am hoping to get a chapter up next weekend, but it will be something of a miracle if I do. However, with the help of reviews, anything is possible: )

* * *

Chapter Four

* * *

_Three Days until the Party…_

* * *

Any hope that Kyle had of Stan being back to normal Wednesday was shot as soon as he saw his friend, leaning against his locker with his hat balled up in his hands. Every time that Stan was freaking out about something, he removed that stupid blue hat--the same kind that he'd been wearing since Elementary School--and essentially strangled it. Kyle winced as one particularly vigorous squeeze from Stan sent the little red poof-ball sailing across the room. Stan must have at least a dozen of those hats stuffed in the top of his closet, but he happened to know that the one he had just maimed was his favorite—that he himself had given him. 

He'd had his grandmother embroider his initials onto the inside band and everything.

Needless to say, it was not with a lot of enthusiasm that he greeted his friend. Stan grinned when he caught sight of him, but it was that somewhat manic grin that he displayed whenever he was in one of his little moods, and trying to pretend that he wasn't. Then a ridiculously panicked look crossed his face, and he spun around to covertly 'sneak' the damaged hat into his locker, underneath what appeared to be at least a year's worth of _Sports Illustrated_ magazines.

Kyle rolled his eyes. As if he was fooling anybody.

He turned around without speaking beyond his initial 'hello' and began the short walk to their first class, knowing without looking that his friend would fall into step beside him. He had done so for the last seven years, after all.

But, when he finally decided that enough was enough and turned to ask about Stan's latest session of football practice, he was somehow not surprised to see only Butters, humming under his breath and grinning cheerfully at him.

If he had looked back, he would have seen Stan sprinting towards the Home Ec room, desperate to borrow a needle and thread before the late bell rang. Instead, he just sighed.

"Hey Stan!" Butters exclaimed. "How are you today?"

That was at least one good thing about talking to Butters. He always made you feel welcome.

Kyle managed a smile in return, but it sort of lost its effect when he promptly sighed again and looked down at his feet.

Butters laid a comforting (or so he thought—really it was just sort of annoying) hand on his shoulder and asked, in a voice that Kyle personally found way to audible for his peace of mind, "having trouble with Stan?"

Butters was one of the few kids in South Park who shared his…situation. As such, he had taken to following him around, attempting to commiserate with him.

God, it was irritating.

How he had ever found out was beyond him as well. The only other person who knew had assured him she hadn't let it slip, and then lectured him for a good thirty minutes on what an insensitive, untrusting ass he was to even suggest it. The only solution that he'd been able to come up with was that Butters was equipped with a radar. Or a… he stopped himself before the irritating expression could be completed.

There was really no need to go there.

Radar or no, Butters was easily distracted from his prying with a mention of musical theatre, and he spent the entire walk to class droning on about the newest adaptations of Rogers and Hammerstein.

As he finally sank into his desk up front, it was all that Kyle could do not to moan. God, where were Stan and his virtually incomprehensible yet entertaining descriptions of football plays when he needed them?

* * *

"So then I said, 'well, if you want me to do that, you're going to have to really give me something awesome in exchange.' And so, he, like, starts kissing down my body—" 

"**_Bebe!"_**

"What? God, you're so weird. Anyway, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted…"

Wendy buried her significantly flushed face in her hands, trying desperately to avoid hearing the conclusion. God, that was sick.

She had at first been sort of glad to find out that Bebe had a detention today. She had figured that, even if she had to change the subject at least fifty times in order to avoid questions about Stan that she really didn't want to answer, at least she would have someone better to talk to than Eric Cartman. After about twenty minutes of totally unnecessary details about Bebe's sex life, and mental pictures of Kenny McCormick that she feared she would never be able to banish, she was reconsidering.

Cartman may be a racist, sexist, utter and complete jerk-face, but at least his attempts at conversation yesterday had been mildly entertaining. For example, she had to admit that he had a good point about Ms. Flarebush having the legs of a hairy rhinoceros who was retaining too much water.

And at least she hadn't spent the majority of detention yesterday worrying about what the other students would overhear, and praying for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. When she was arguing with Cartman, she didn't really notice other people. It was just the two of them, in an epic struggle for superiority that other people had absolutely no place or importance in.

With Bebe…not so much.

Speaking of Bebe, she was asking her something. Wendy looked away from staring at the door and asked her to repeat herself.

"I said" Bebe exclaimed, "why are you ignoring me and staring at the freaking door?"

"One: I'm ignoring you because I really don't want to know what kind of tattoo Kenny has on his ass. Two: I'm not staring at the door," She said, flipping her hair and giving Bebe her best superior glare.

Then she went back to staring at the door.

"Hmm."

"What was that?" Wendy asked with great suspicion. She hated when Bebe made that stupid noise. It always meant that she thought she knew something.

"Oh, nothing," her friend said, closely examining her polished nails for potential chips. "I was just wondering where the other students are."

"Senor Mackey sent Cartman and the other guys to the library for the first hour. Then we're going to go for the next hour, after they get back."

"Probably just trying to avoid another of those grand struggles for dominance between you and the fat boy."

"God, Bebe," Wendy cried, slamming the book that she'd been trying to study for the last forty minutes closed. "Why do you have to make fun of people for being fat? Not all of us can look like a damned swimsuit model, okay?"

"Hmm."

She was _this_ close to strangling her. "What now?" She gritted out between tightly clenched teeth.

"Oh, nothing." Whenever Bebe said 'nothing' like that, you could bet that there was a 'something' behind it.

"You know that you have something to say. Just freaking come out and say it."

"Well," Bebe sighed, pretending to be put upon. "I just think it's strange that you're coming to the defense of someone that hates you almost as much as you hate him."

Wendy snorted. "I wasn't _defending_ him."

"Oh, please."

"Well," she retorted. "I wasn't defending _just_ him. I could stand to lose a few pounds too, you know. And I get sick of you being all superior just because you're built like Pam Anderson."

"What, this?" Bebe giggled, gesturing at her narrow waist. "That's easy! Want to know my secret?"

"Absolutely not."

Bebe went on as if she hadn't heard. "Lots and lots of wild, rambunctious sex."

"Excuse me while I go hang myself."

"Wendy, I am totally serious. Do you have any idea how many calories you burn in one thirty minute session?"

"Do you?"

"Well… no." She looked vaguely put out. "But…it's a lot!"

"I'm so sure."

"Really, and talk about a fun way to lose weight. You know, you should try it some time," Bebe smirked, and Wendy once again fought the urge to stab her in the eye with a pencil.

"Gee, I am so surprised that this came up. Never would have predicted it in a million years." Here it came. What she'd beenworking atavoiding for half the year.

"Wendy, I'm talking serious here. I really want to know, and I'm asking you as a friend. When was the last time that you so much as kissed Stan?"

"God! Why can't you just leave me alone about Stan?"

"Answer the question, Wendy."

"No. And for your information, just because I don't like to spend a lot of time doing something that isn't even all that fun, does _not_ mean that I am in a bad relationship," Wendy fumed, opening her text back up and flipping through it for page 197.

Beside her, Bebe was staring at her wide-eyed. "Not…_fun?_ You don't think that kissing is fun?"

She slammed the book. "Look, Bebe, some of us just aren't all that sexual, alright? It doesn't mean that we can't still live perfectly normal lives with our perfectly normal boyfriends!" She opened the book again.

"Wendy, in case you hadn't noticed… you're not all that normal. And stop playing with that stupid book!" she grabbed it and tossed it over her shoulder.

"Hey!" Wendy said in unison with some random girl sitting behind her, who had been hit in the face with the book. She turned around to glare at her, "Give me my book back right now!"

"Do I look like I want your book, you freaking bitch?" The girl replied, rubbing earnestly at the bridge of her nose.

Wendy's eyes began to glow with what some had compared to blue hellfire. "What did you just call me, you insignificant little toad!"

The girl virtually quaked in her seat. "Nothing! Here's your book!" She actually wiped it down with the tail of her baggy pink T-shirt before handing it back.

"That's exactly what I thought." Wendy sniffed disdainfully, examining her book for damage.

Beside her, Bebe was shaking her head in disbelief. "You see? This sort of thing is precisely what I was talking about."

"What?" Wendy asked, some of her anger extinguished after finding her text to be scuff-free.

"This! That! Normal people do not have the power to reduce perfectly healthy individuals to silly putty with one look!"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Wendy snorted.

"Look, all I'm saying is that someone able to turn a perfectly normal person into…well…that!" she gestured at the girl in the pink shirt, now pale and hunched down in her seat, clutching her small cross necklace in both hands. "Should not have any trouble having passionate sex! Dude, you've got, like, a freaking volcano hovering just beneath the surface in there." She tapped her on the head, and ducked as Wendy sent a pencil flying at her face. Then she grinned. "Thank you for further proving my point."

Wendy groaned, rolling her eyes back so far that Bebe was half-way afraid they'd get stuck that way. "Was there anything else you wanted to say? Because I'd rather you get it all out so that this conversation can die out here and now."

"As a matter of fact, yes! And I'm being your friend when I say this, Wendy. You need to stop pretending to be satisfied with Stan. Sure, he's a nice guy, but if there's no physical attraction there's no relationship!"

"Sounds like one of your mottos," Wendy muttered. This conversation was hitting entirely too close to home.

"I'm serious! You are not the type of girl who can be satisfied with a nice, normal guy. You need someone bold. Someone who takes what he wants, no questions asked! Someone who isn't going to just lie down and let you push him around! Someone like… Like…"

Wendy banged her fist on the desk. "Oh, would you just cut your melodramatic crap and spit it out! Like who?"

"Like…"

"Eric Cartman!" Senor Mackey shouted. "You stop clogging up the doorway, _si bien_?"

"I'll move when I'm good and ready to move, damn it!" Cartman yelled. Then he moved.

Bebe, for once struck silent, eyed him speculatively as he made his way down the aisle. He glared at her when he noted she had taken his seat while he was gone. He had gotten here early to get that seat.

However, one look at Wendy, obviously fuming, was enough to convince him that now was not the time. He wasn't afraid of the bitch, but any master knew that the key to a hostile take-over was to pick your battles. He had made significant progress yesterday. Now was not the time to jeopardize his mission.

Plus, there was a seat free with a decent view of her face. Wendy's face when she was in one of her psychotically scary moods was hotter than _anything_ he'd ever seen in _any _of Kenny's dirty magazines.

Unfortunately, before he'd been able to watch for more than ten minutes, even, Senor Mackey ordered all of the girls to the library.

Damned Mexican.

Hastily, he stood. "Senor Mackey! Senor Mackey! I left my book in the library!"

Mackey sighed. "Eric, you only looked at one book, _si bien?_ I know, because I watched you systematically destroy it, and then made you pay for it. It's sitting right in front of you."

"But I need another book, Senor Mackey," he whined.

"Eric, I only have seven hall passes left, _si bien_. And there are seven girls," he said, somewhat desperately.

"Senor Mackey," Bebe piped up from her seat beside Wendy, who appeared slightly calmer at the prospect of the library. Being surrounded by books had a strangely calming effect upon her, Bebe had noticed. Virgins were so weird. "Cartman can have my pass."

He just shook his head, obviously feeling another migraine coming on. "_Si bien._" At least there would be some peace and quiet around here again. Let the librarian deal with those two little freaks. Suddenly, he smirked.

Bebe smirked.

Cartman smirked.

Wendy even smirked. She wasn't sure why…but what the hell?

* * *

**Additional Notes**: I promise there will be more action in the next update. I just thought this sort-of transitional chapter was necessary to show where everyone's head is at right now. Wendy's so deep in denial she can hardly breathe, Stan is so confused he doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and let's just say that even _I _want to kick his ass for what he's putting Kyle through. Poor Kyle.

Please review! It helps me write faster!

* * *

**Thanks to:**

Lilchicky004

I feel the Kenny/Butters love, too. But if you're going to do Kenny het, I'm all about Bebe. They're just hilarious to me.

Thanks for the comments!

ahhelga

Thanks Pauline! To think, I nearly didn't use Senor Mackey. I thought it might be too cheesy. Glad that I went with him, as he seems to be quite popular!

I'm glad that I made you laugh. Angst is fine, but humor is my favorite thing to do:)

Coffeey

Glad you liked Senor Mackey. I just couldn't help putting him in this chapter too, though I'm going to try to avoid over-using him. Don't want to kill the joke:)

I was really psyched that you like my Cartman characterization. I've been worried about that... Man, it's hard to keep a racist asshole sympathetic! And really, what does it say about me that he's my favorite character?

Rakal

Aww, you really had me grinning with this one. I'm glad you like the style of the story. I've been worried about keeping the balance, and I'm glad that you think I'm pulling it off:)

TweekFan

Thanks! About Stan and Kyle, I'm really feeling sorry for Kyle right now. Stan's being so insensitive. Sure, he's going through a lot, but doesn't he see what it's doing to his best friend?

Hehe, sorry. I wonder if I may be getting a little overly involved in this storyline. Consider it incentive for me to update faster. I've got to help poor Kyle out!

Broken-SilverWings

I am loving writing the C/W stuff. It's just so much fun, and it's actually coming a lot easier than I thought.

Thank you for reviewing!

Mina-chan

Hehe, Cartman is fun to write. Everyone else, I pretty much have to plan it out. Cartman just does what he wants.

And yes, I agree. There's some definite gayness going on lately.

Seaouryou

Aww, favorites! I love it!

I know what you mean about the snarkiness. I must have seen the flag episode at least a dozen times, just for that:)

Thanks for reviewing! Take care.


	5. Chapter 5

_Still three days until the party…_

* * *

Wendy could barely restrain a yawn as she sat, surrounded by her quasi-friends, listening to a rather in-depth conversation about the benefits and disadvantages of various types of lip-gloss. Or, if she were completely honest with herself, she was trying very hard _not _to listen.

The five girls that she was sitting with were really more Bebe's friends than hers. Friends by association, as it were. She could tell that the girls—all blondes, though only two of them naturally so—were not altogether impressed with her. However, Bebe's approval won her acceptance, and her own intimidation skills protected her from the veiled insults and chiding that other girls in her position often had to suffer through.

Even if any of them were willing to go against Bebe, the widely recognized ruler of them all, all they had to do was remember a certain incident involving a cheerleader—this one brave enough to dye her hair red, instead of copying Bebe's yellow tresses—who pissed Wendy off. No one had ever been able to prove anything, but most of them still had nightmares about the janitor sweeping all of that lovely copper hair out of the locker room. Of course, even if the rumors about Wendy's involvement were false, the girl would never have lasted very long anyway. Bebe did not tolerate dissenters, and all that red hair was a challenge too grievous to overlook.

It was a well-known truth among the girls of South Park High. Nobody fucked with Bebe Stevens or Wendy Testaburger. Though that really depended on how you used the word, anyway. Technically, Bebe had been fucked with plenty of times--or so she bragged, anyway.

Abruptly, Wendy's patience—already sorely tried by the very unwelcome truths driven home by her earlier discussion with her best friend—wore thin. She pushed her chair back and came to her feet. The crowd of would-be Bebe's abruptly fell silent and eyed her nervously. Wendy surveyed them all quite disdainfully. They all looked so nervous. A bunch of spineless drones, waiting for their orders.

All at once, she came to a realization. She was so tired of people walking around on eggshells for her. Wendy was not the type to worry about popularity, but this went much deeper. Was it so much to ask, really, to have someone just talk to her because they wanted to, and not because they were afraid of her?

She had always enjoyed the unusual freedoms that she possessed. Even Eric Cartman couldn't get away with _everything_. He had been caught and punished more than once. She, on the other hand, was only just now experiencing her very first detention—and, in her humble opinion, she had done things that were more than equal to his delinquent exploits. But whereas before she had all but exalted in her liberties, now she just felt…well…lonely. Depressed at the thought that her deepest interpersonal connections were merely the result of intimidation and dread. Even Stan seemed jumpy around her lately, and they had been together more than half her life.

She would like to blame her current feelings on Bebe's unwelcome interference, but, if she were honest with herself, the feeling had been coming on for months—if not years, even.

Her thoughts about Stan gave her pause. She had been in a relationship with a boy for almost ten years. It was not as though she had never thought of it, and even joked about it, but suddenly it seemed to really ring home. Ten years. Sure, there had been frequent on and off fazes, but they essentially had went together since childhood. And, while others around them were making out in supply closets, having sex in the back of pick-up trucks, and just generally acting like the overly stimulated young adults that they were, their own relationship had not changed much since they were eight. Nothing more than an occasional kiss that still inspired blushing on both parts. She couldn't even remember the last time they had held hands in public. She hated public displays of affection, and Stan… did Stan hate it too? She really didn't know. They didn't talk to each other. She hadn't even so much as seen him in weeks.

She suddenly realized that she had essentially blanked out, and had been standing there clutching at the top of her chair for God knows how long. The bobble-heads, as she had taken to referring to Bebe's followers in her mind (because they were always nodding at whatever their master said), were still regarding her uneasily. Wendy knew she had to say something but had no idea what. Finally, she simply turned and walked away. It wasn't as though they'd have the guts to remark upon her strange behavior anyway.

She settled with her back against a corner wall, well out of sight of the other tables, with a book in front of her. She wasn't reading it, though. She couldn't get her earlier uneasiness to fade. Her mind kept drifting back to her conversation with Bebe.

"_You are not the type of girl who can be satisfied with a nice, normal guy. You need someone bold. Someone who takes what he wants, no questions asked! Someone who isn't going to just lie down and let you push him around!"_

She winced. Did Stan really let her push him around? Maybe that was true at one time, but not anymore. Really, Stan didn't come around often enough for her to tell. She had convinced herself that it didn't matter, had pushed it away far enough in her mind that she had convinced herself that she didn't mind. That they were just like an old-married couple, secure enough in themselves and their relationship that they didn't have to constantly cling to one another. But now… she didn't think so anymore.

Had Stan simply gotten tired of being bossed around by her? Could she have driven him away? She liked to think that she was mature enough to recognize the possibility. Though it hurt her, she could distance herself to the extent that she could admit she was not an easy person to be around. Bebe called her complicated. Now, for the first time, she wondered about that. Was she complicated? Or was she just a bitch?

Wendy's self-reflection was abruptly interrupted, as she suddenly noticed a rather large shadow behind the bookcase to her left. She stiffened instantly, and rose to her feet. Contemplating her own flaws always left her frustrated, and she thought that she had just spotted the perfect outlet for her discontent.

She rose to her feet, casually stepping towards the bookcase in question, making as if she were going to replace the book in her hand with another. Her hands skimmed the spines of the books on the shelf. Reference books, she noted. Nice and thick and heavy. Without warning, she shoved them back with all her might. From behind the shelf came a flurry of curses so vile they could only emanate from one outlet. She smiled in self-satisfaction, inwardly thanking Eric Cartman. It was the first time she'd felt really good about herself all day. Just what she'd needed.

Just as she'd returned to her seat on the floor, Cartman came out from behind the shelf, rubbing at the blood trickling slowly from his nose and snarling. It wasn't a description she'd typically assign to a human, but there was really no other word for the way he was growling and practically foaming at the mouth. Then again, Cartman's humanity was debatable anyway.

The whole episode left her in rather a contented mood, which was only magnified by the darkness of the thoughts she'd been entertaining before he showed up. She was feeling so charitable towards him for providing such a welcome distraction, she didn't even bother to respond in kind to the death threats he was currently throwing her way. Instead, she laughed at him. When she didn't bother to get pissed off at his comments, he really was the most ridiculously funny and entertaining person she knew. She supposed that she'd noticed it a few times, but it was so rare for her not to be pissed off at him that she was mildly surprised each time that the realization struck home again.

He seemed taken aback by her reaction, and she smiled again at catching him off guard. It really was quite satisfying. She knew Cartman well enough to realize that, like her, he weighed each circumstance carefully and entered into altercations with a strategy prepared for any possible situation that may arise. She had caught him now, and he would have to completely regroup. Wendy waited for his next insult rather impatiently. Whatever it was, it was sure to be something special. He truly did work best under pressure.

It was her turn to be surprised when, instead of firing a come-back at her, he instead took a seat against the wall next to her. However, the glint in his eye suggested that he knew exactly where he was going with this new strategy. She resolved to keep her guard up, despite his suddenly easy-going manner.

"You know, Wendy," he said in a deceivingly conversational tone, trying his best to raise his knees to his chest in an imitation of how she was sitting, and failing miserably. "It's not very nice to throw books at unsuspecting library patrons." His manner was so decidedly angelic, she couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy.

"Don't you pull that garbage with me, Cartman. 'Unsuspecting patron' my eye. You were clearly spying on me."

His mocking guffaws echoed throughout the area. "Spying on you? Please. And just why would I spy on you, of all people."

Perhaps one less experienced than she would not have noticed the uneasiness in those brown eyes. She had been analyzing them for years, though, and could read him as easily as John Knowles—really a fit comparison. They were both irritating as hell.

Wendy would typically string him along a little more, really piss him off, but she decided that acting out of character had thus far been her ally in this particular altercation. Why not continue, and call his bluff? "You really think that I don't know, Cartman?" she asked, staring dramatically into his eyes and licking her lips for effect.

His reaction was much more pronounced than she would have expected. Typically he was sort of half with her; some of his attention focused on her and a larger part on planning his next response. Now, for the first time she could remember, his attention was fixed squarely upon her. He was completely alert, eyes focused on her face, body strangely tense. Wendy nearly jumped back as a sudden thought occurred to her. Focused on her like this, like everything depended on her response, he seemed strangely magnetic. His body was drawn up to full height—or as much as it could be, sitting down—instead of all slumped like he usually was. His features were sharp, his eyes, darker than usual, unwaveringly tracking her. Like this, he looked almost…well, not really, but sort of…he looked kind of hot.

She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were sitting, and the way his leg was casually brushing hers. To her amazement, she didn't pull back. A moment passed, during which neither of them spoke and Wendy had to consciously remind herself to breathe.

Then, like a splash of cold water, Cartman rolled his eyes. And she realized that, if she had forgotten to breath, she had definitely been the only one.

"Well," he said. What exactly is it that you _think _you know?"

Wendy blinked. She felt sort of strange. Not like herself at all. "Know? Know what?"

"You dumb bitch, what do you think that you know!"

She snapped out of her fog in a hurry, grabbing her things and eyeing him contemptuously as she rose to her feet. "I _know_ that you're an asshole, Cartman!"

Before walking away, she turned on her heel and looked back at him, embarrassed, disappointed, and she didn't even know why. "And if I ever catch you spying on me again, trying to find something to make fun of me for, I'll do worse than throw a couple of books at you!"

Cartman stared at her retreating form, and then thunked his head back against the wall. What a freaking moron.

He wasn't sure if he was thinking it of her or of himself, but the sentiment was definitely there.

* * *

_Two days until the party…_

* * *

Stan sat on his favorite park bench, newly repaired cap pulled low over his ears and coat buttoned up to his chin. The cold had always bothered him more than his other friends. More than Kenny, who had more important things to worry about. Like making his inevitable… episodes… as painless as possible. More than Cartman, who, naturally, came equipped with his own personal insulation. Even more so than Kyle, who, despite being the tallest of them all, was also the thinnest.

And he was back at Kyle again.

Stan fought back pangs of guilt for the five-hundred and sixth time in the last few days, and took his frustration out on the pond in front of him, flinging a pebble at it with all his might. It just pinged off the iced over body of water, frozen as it was all but one month a year. Damn South Park.

Not that it was the weather he was angry at. Or Kyle. It was himself.

Try as he might, he could not understand what had come over him lately. Why he had been acting like such a bastard. All that he knew was that it was somehow tied into his relationship with Kyle.

Kyle, of all people. Who had been his best friend since before he'd learnt how to walk. Why was he so angry at him?

Only, it wasn't anger. Not really. It was frustration. But why was he frustrated? The whole thing made no sense at all, and all he wanted to do was go back to how they'd been before.

But not.

Different.

But, he shook his head, forehead scrunched up in confusion, what did he mean by 'different'?

Stan knew that he wasn't stupid. He had many times considered that he and Kyle would not be able to spend the rest of their lives as best friends, as they were now. They would always be friends, but would inevitably have to get jobs and have their own families and not be able to spend every waking moment hanging out together, as they had so far.

But, somehow, Stan had always seen himself, not Kyle, as the one who would end up marrying and settling down when he was ready—which wouldn't be for a while. He had never considered until recently that Kyle might be the one to take off first.

But, since his conversation with Token the other day, he had realized that he wasn't the only one with a prospective life. That Kyle was just as likely to meet some stupid chick and move off with her as he was—only not, because he had Wendy.

Sometimes he forgot about that.

It seemed an unlikely jump to go from an obscure discussion about sex to this state, but somehow it made sense to him. The loss of virginity was, after all, the beginning of adulthood. And that was a big part of it. Stan didn't want to grow up, and he didn't want his best friend to either. Because growing up meant losing childhood friends, and he didn't think that he was even close to being ready to lose Kyle.

That wasn't all. He was pretty sure that there was more to what he was feeling. But he was sick and tired of thinking about it, and his ridiculous, unconnected ramblings had at least bought him some measure of comfort.

One thing was certain, anyway. Even if he didn't know what was going on in his own head, he owed his best friend an apology.

* * *

... 

_Hey guys. Yeah, it's been a while, I know. Sorry about that, but I've been dealing with perhaps the most severe case of writer's block I've ever had. And my new job (I'm a summer runner at a law office) hasn't really given me a lot of time to work on it. This chapter alone took me about a month to write, and finally came out about 100 times different than I initially envisioned it._

_I've decided, though, to try and find a Beta reader. It won't take a lot of effort with spell-checking and grammar, I really just need someone to read through what I have and give me ideas every now and then, and to yell at me if I don't update often enough. I really think it'd help me out, so please Private Message me on if you have the time._

_I recently learned from my lovely roommate kkat84 (pimping her stories here!), that this site does not like you to reply to reviews inside your stories. I personally prefer to do it that way, but I understand the logic. So, starting now, I will have to reply to you by pm. I'm not going to go back and do it to all of those who already reviewed last chapter, because too much time has passed and you've all probably forgotten even leaving a review by now. But do understand that I appreciate every comment you take the time to make—the good, the bad, I love it all._

_I am still excited to a freakish degree by the fanart! Seaouryou made me. Check out Kenny and Bebe on deviant art. I can't figure out how to do a link, and the site won't let me write the address out, so just take the spaces out: www. deviantart. com/ deviation/ 33867884/_


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